


you are the reason i'm smiling (when there is nothing to smile about)

by andtimestoodstill



Series: i swear to god the devil made me do it [7]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Gratuitous use of italics, M/M, POV Ronan Lynch, Pining, Ronan Lynch Has Feelings, gratuitous references to julius caesar, ronan lynch swears a normal amount, the author likes writing the same shit from multiple povs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 14:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andtimestoodstill/pseuds/andtimestoodstill
Summary: “Well, Lynch,” Adam reached across the island to return the gin to its spot amongst the masses. “You really showed us.” His elbow brushed against Ronan’s bicep as he pulled back, Ronan’s skin lighting up like a goddamn Catherine wheel.Fuck.(Or, Five Times Ronan Lynch Wants to Hold Adam Parrish's Hand, and One Time he Just Wants to Jump His Bones)





	you are the reason i'm smiling (when there is nothing to smile about)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSLGNwGynUs%20rel=)

Ronan Lynch reluctantly pulled his had away from Adam’s grip. The other boy shifted away, scratching at a spot under his jaw. Ronan forced his gaze away from the movement, meeting Gansey’s eyes across the island.

“Alright motherfuckers. Let’s get this party fucking started.”

Blue appeared at Adam’s side, taking a red plastic cup from his hands. “Ah, I see you’ve finally met Lynch.” Blue sidled up to her boyfriend, and Gansey automatically slipped an arm around her waist. Ronan’s eyes swung away from the two of them, unable to tamp down the disquiet itching under his skin. He focused on the bottles of alcohol lining the island instead.

“Did Henry buy all of this stuff?” Adam asked.

“Nah,” Ronan picked up a plastic bottle of gin. “I brought this.”

Adam laughed, the sound bright and surprised. Something warmed in Ronan’s chest, he schooled his features into casual disinterest. “You have _terrible_ taste,” Adam took the bottle from Ronan’s hands, their fingers brushing. Ronan’s heart skipped a few beats.

_Fuck_.

“Maybe this was all I could afford.” Ronan hoped his voice didn’t sound quite at tight as it felt.

Adam looked Ronan up and down, (Ronan was _not_ blushing) blue eyes cutting across Ronan’s frame. “I don’t believe that for a second, Lynch.”

“Ronan’s a poverty tourist,” Blue said, brown eyes challenging Ronan over the rim of her cup.

“Jane—” Gansey started.

“Now _that_, I believe.”

“Excuse me?”

Adam cocked an eyebrow at Ronan, blue eyes sparkling in mirth. “It all makes sense, the tattered jeans, shirt that’s _just_ a little too small, scuffed up boots, and I’m sure you have the leather jacket to match,” (Ronan, did in fact, have a distressed leather jacket hanging in Henry’s coat closet). “You brought a cheap bottle of alcohol, because you felt obligated to bring something, but you didn’t want to spend too much money.”

“First of all, Henry asked us to bring gin, and Gansey forgot it at Monmouth, so I had to bring it with me.” Blue and Adam’s eyes swung over to Gansey, who was flushed embarrassedly.

“_You_ picked out that gin?” Adam asked, taken aback.

“You’re more likely to buy 30-year-old gin that was distilled by Tibetan monks than this shit,” Blue eyed the bottle distastefully. She pulled off a little orange sticker that had $10.50 crookedly printed across it. “Have you ever even been in a liquor store that’s sold alcohol this cheap?”

“_Yes_,” Gansey intoned.

“That 7-11 around the corner from our apartment doesn’t count.”

Gansey sighed. “Then, no. I asked Noah to pick up something on his way home from class. I thought he would have at least better taste than Ronan.”

Ronan scoffed; Adam chuckled. “Oh fuck off, Dick. Even I know enough about gin to not get something in a _plastic goddamn bottle_.”

“It was a lapse in judgement, I see that now.”

“Okay,” Adam turned to Ronan again. “So what was your second point?”

Ronan, a little tipsy and a little entranced by the smattering of freckles across Adam’s nose, said, incredibly, “huh?”

Adam’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You said _first of all_…” Adam trailed off, leaving Ronan the room to fill in his second point.

“Oh, uh, right. Second of all, I have carefully crafted an aesthetic,” Ronan gestured to his clothes. “And it’s not your place to stifle my artistic vision.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “You can’t just pass your apathy off as a personal aesthetic.”

“Is that so?” Ronan cocked his head challengingly. “What’s your excuse?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ronan scoffed. “You know, Parrish, _scholarship student_ isn’t a personality.”

Adam blinked at Ronan impassively. “Neither is _fake starving artist_, Lynch.” Blue snickered, leaning her face into Gansey’s chest to stifle the noise. Her boyfriend, and Ronan’s best friend, had his lips pressed together resolutely, obviously trying not to laugh.

Ronan blanched. “Et tu, Gansey?” He wasn’t actually mad, in fact, Adam’s cutting words almost made Ronan want to smile. It was nice to have someone to go up to bat against for once.

(Ronan was definitely not distracted from the edge in Adam’s tone by the way his long fingers wrapped and unwrapped around the neck of the bottle)

“Well, Lynch,” Adam reached across the island to return the gin to its spot amongst the masses. “You really showed us.” His elbow brushed against Ronan’s bicep as he pulled back, Ronan’s skin lighting up like a goddamn Catherine wheel.

_Fuck_.

*** 

Tad Carruthers was droning on about Hoboken and Ronan wanted to _die_. Glancing over Gansey’s perfectly coiffed hair, Ronan caught Adam’s eye. There was a mutual feeling of dislike shared between them, Ronan’s face spreading into a wolfish smile at the way Adam’s eye rolled languidly when Tad genuinely raved on about the Hudson river.

(Adam smiled, matching Ronan’s wolfishness easily)

Adam cocked his head towards the door, a silent question there. Ronan found himself nodding dumbly, draining the rest his drink, and stacking the empty cup under the one Gansey held in his hand.

“Bye, dick. Bye, Gansey.” Ronan smirked and stalked away, Adam’s musical laugh following him. He pushed his way to the door, Adam hot on his heels, and the two of them stumbled out of Tad’ pretentious loft.

“God,” Adam sighed as the door closed behind them, the shitty house music Tad favored muffled by the door. He rubbed at his right ear mindlessly, eyes swinging over to Ronan. “I know how I got dragged to that party, what’s your excuse?”

“Gansey is my best friend and I have to make up for all of my adolescent bullshit sometime. Better now, when he wants me to go to these stupid Columbia parties than campaign fundraisers or something.” Adam nodded along vacantly, clever fingers still rubbing idly at his ear. “You good, Parrish?”

“Oh,” Adam stiffened. “Yeah.”

“You’re a terrible liar. Did something happen to your ear?” Ronan stepped closer to him, but Adam flinched as Ronan entered his space. Ronan froze, as if Adam were a wild horse he was trying not to spook.

“I’m fine.” Adam’s accent curled around his words, eating away at the space between them. “It’s an old injury.”

“What are you? A middle-aged gymnast? How do you injure an ear?”

“I didn’t do anything, but I was pushed down the front steps of my parents’ double wide anyway.” Adam’s eyes were drawn closed, brows furrowed, fingers still rubbing at his ear.

“What the fuck?”

Adam’s eyes snapped open. “Did I say that out loud?” he asked, horrified.

“_What the fuck_?”

Ronan and Adam stood face to face in the yellow light of the hallway, muffled conversation and terrible music filling the uncomfortable silence between them. Adam looked terrified, standing there in front of Ronan. He felt his hands ball up in anger, twitching at his sides, searching for some kind of outlet for his anger. Ronan wanted to punch a wall. He wanted to tear whoever hurt Adam, _limb from_ _fucking limb_.

(A deeper, scarier part of Ronan wanted to close the distance between him and Adam and do something even stupider. Like try to hug him, or still the mindless movement of his hand rubbing at his ear, or _kiss him_)

_Fuck_.

Ronan did none of these things, tucking his hands into the back pocket of his jeans to keep the shaking out of sight. “Who?” Ronan asked calmly, or as calmly as Ronan was ever capable of.

Adam’s hand dropped, arms crossing over his chest defiantly. “It’s not important.”

“Will they hurt you again?”

Adam crumpled, stepping back to lean against Tad’s door. “No. He won't.”

Ronan did his smoker’s breath. He still felt like he was boiling over, but he was able to settle enough to say, “okay. Let’s get the fuck out of here. Just being this close to this many Ivy League assholes is giving me hives.”

Adam gave a watery laugh and followed Ronan out of the building. Over the last few days, it had started to cool off again, and Ronan tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. They stopped on the sidewalk outside Tad’s building, neither of them sure where they were going.

“I’m deaf in my left ear,” Adam said at last.

Ronan glanced over at him out of the corner of his eye. Adam was looking down at his sneakers, hands twitching at his sides. Rather than reach out and take Adam’s hand, Ronan said, “okay.”

“I want pizza.”

“Okay.” For once in this conversation, Ronan felt like he could breathe. “Bravo’s?”

“Yeah,” Adam turned and headed towards the nearest stop on the A line.

As they descended down into the station, Ronan stayed on Adam’s right side, sidling up close to him as they waited for their train to arrive. There was still a layer of tension settled over them as the doors to the A train slid open and they sat down. Ronan pulled his AirPods out of his pocket and offered one to Adam. He looked down at the offering, uncertain.

“Wow, Lynch. You really are a stereotype of juvenile affluence.”

Ronan huffed out a laugh. “Shut up, Parrish.” Ronan felt an unbidden smile spread across his face. “I think you’ll like this band.”

Adam took the headphone from Ronan’s outstretched hand and slipped it in his good ear. About a week ago, Adam had been over at Monmouth and had confused the Who and the Rolling Stones when Gansey asked him what his favorite song was (Ronan didn’t want to think about the fact that Adam’s answer was “Back in the USSR” by the fucking _Beatles_. The boy was a mess). So Ronan had put it upon himself to educate Adam Parrish, starting with differentiating between mid-to-late-20th century British rock bands. Ronan thought that the best place to start was the Kinks’ “Waterloo Sunset”.

Ronan watched Adam listen to the song, not paying much attention to it himself. It was a favorite of his parents’, and he had heard the song hundreds of times in his life, so Ronan took the opportunity to stare at Adam openly under the guise of studying his reaction. From where their thighs were pressed together (Ronan was desperately trying not to think about it), he could feel the steady tapping of Adam’s foot against the floor of the train.

As the iconic guitar faded out, Adam pulled the headphone from his ear, holding it between his freckled fingers. Ronan followed suit. “That was the Rolling Stones, right?”

Ronan let out an unbidden laugh. “Jesus Christ, Parrish.”

“What?”

“That was the _Kinks_.”

“Huh.”

“What do you think?” Ronan aimed for casual interest.

“I liked it—” Adam started.

“But?” Ronan supplied

Adam scratched mindlessly at his left ear. “It seems kind of sad, is all.”

Ronan didn’t respond at first. His strongest memories attached to that song were so ridiculously happy that he couldn’t comprehend what Adam was saying. When he heard those first trilling notes of guitar, he thought of his father spinning his mother around the kitchen at the Barns. He thought of evenings spent in the living room, his dad’s albums spinning on the old record player. He thought of the first time he was allowed to ride in the front seat of the BMW.

But when pushed (and God knows, Adam was good at pushing), Ronan could see the underlying melancholy in Ray Davies’ words.

“Maybe,” Ronan conceded. “I still can’t believe you thought that was the Stones, man.”

Adam laughed, a quiet thing in relation to the train (Ronan wanted to listen to that sound on repeat, fuck the Kinks). “The garage I worked at in high school used to play a classic rock station over the stereo, but I never paid attention to any of the names. Of songs or artists.”

“I never would have guessed,” Ronan scrolled through his phone. “Alright, put that back in. This song is actually by the Stones.”

Adam rolled his eyes but complied. Ronan pressed play on “Jumping Jack Flash” and leaned back in his seat. Adam’s eyes slipped closed as Mick Jagger started singing, his fingers tapping against his denim-clad knee. Ronan was entranced by the movements, far less interested in Mick Jagger’s crooning than the simple movement of Adam’s clever fingers.

_Fuck_.

The train rolled on to Brooklyn.

***

Ronan stopped at Bravo’s on his way home from class on a whim. He knew that Blue worked Wednesday afternoons, and she had a habit of slipping him (well, not just Ronan. Actually, never Ronan. Her gifts were usually for Gansey. Or Adam. Or Noah. Or Henry) misshapen garlic knots that they didn’t want to sell to paying customers.

Ronan didn’t expect to find Adam, eyes glued to the behemoth of a textbook laid out in front of him. He scratched at the space behind his right ear with the back of his pen, lips moving as his eyes swept across the page.

“Parrish,” Ronan announced his presence as he dropped into the bench across from him. “You know, you don’t have to be the perfect student all the time.”

Adam looked up; one dusty eyebrow raised. “Actually, Lynch, I do. If I don’t keep my grades up, I could lose my scholarship. I don’t have a trust fund to rely on to pay my tuition.”

Ronan had the good sense not to be offended by that. “Like Columbia is gonna let a fucking nerd like you go.” He glanced around the restaurant. “Is Sargent working? I want some free garlic knots.”

Adam had already gone back to reading. “She’s on her break, but she already brought me some.” Without looking up, Adam pointed at an empty basket. “You should just order some if you want them.”

“Put that trust fund to good use,” Ronan joked. Adam let out a surprised little snort, glancing up at Ronan through his thick eyelashes. Rather than fucking _swoon_ like some Byronic maiden, Ronan stood. “You want anything?”

Adam glanced over at his cup, “will you get me a refill?”

Ronan took the plastic glass. “Yeah. Coke?”

“Mhm,” Adam went back to reading, and Ronan went up to the counter. He came back to Adam’s booth a few minutes later, fresh basket of garlic knots and Adam’s soda in tow. “Thanks,” Adam said distractedly as Ronan slid over his cup.

Ronan bit into a garlic knot (sans marinara sauce, he was a purist), and said, “how do you study in here?”

Adam didn’t bother glancing up. “Usually, I go unbothered by tattooed hooligans.”

“Well now that I know you study here; you’re going to be bothered by tattooed hooligans more often.”

Adam looked up at that, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I guess I’m going to have to start studying at the library again. God knows you’d never be caught dead in one of those.”

“Oh fuck off, Parrish.” Ronan bit at another garlic knot. “I’m twice as literate as you are.”

Adam snorted. “Just because you can read in English and Latin doesn’t make you twice as literate as me. I think I know more words in one language, than you know in two.”

“Ouch. You wound me, Parrish.” Ronan clutched at his heart and watched as Adam took a sip of his soda, unbothered.

“Don’t pretend you actually have a heart in there, Ronan,” Blue, coming up to their table, chided.

“Whatever, Maggot.” He shoved another garlic knot in his mouth as Blue pretended to be tending to their table as she chatted with Adam about one of their neighbors. Blue left a few minutes later when one of her coworkers started to eye her angrily across the restaurant.

Ronan and Adam were left to their own devices, which meant that Adam tried to study, and Ronan tried to get Adam to do anything _but_.

(Ronan did let Adam study for a little while, pretending to play Crossy Road on his phone while actually watching the way Adam twirled an orange highlighter around his finger. Ronan had never been jealous of an inanimate object before, so that was new)

(And really fucking embarrassing)

At some point, when Adam was fed up with Ronan’s seemingly endless energy, the two of them walked to Adam’s and Blue’s apartment, hand’s tucked in pockets, coats zipped up all the way. The four-block walk was almost unbearable in the cold, and Ronan wouldn’t have minded huddling up with Adam to stay warm.

(Or just like, make out)

When they made it to Adam’s and Blue’s apartment, it was almost just as cold inside as it was out.

“What the fuck, Parrish,” Ronan choked out through his chattering teeth. “Why isn’t the heat on?”

“Because two college students live here.” Adam immediately made for the thermostat, turning the heat on immediately. “The radiator is new-ish; it’ll heat up pretty quickly.”

Ronan huffed and made his way to the couch. There was a handsewn quilt hanging across the back it that Ronan wrapped around himself as he settled into the cushions. Adam joined him, tucking his socked feet onto the cushion, arms wrapping around his knees. He turned on the TV, flipping through Netflix for something he and Ronan could agree on.

Like usual, Ronan couldn’t tear his eyes away from Adam’s hands, the way that the balled and flexed to try and get some blood back into them. They were dry and chapped, the first knuckle on his right ring finger was cracked and stained red with blood.

(Ronan still wanted to reach out and entwine his fingers with Adam’s. Just to like, warm them up, or whatever)

_Fuck_.

***

Ronan, drunk on Jameson and plagued by memories, found himself at Adam’s apartment, fist raised to knock on the door.

There were many reasons as to why Ronan ended up at the corner of Cranberry and Willow; his decreased inhibitions and waning self-control, his desire to commiserate over their shared daddy issues, his desperate need to pee—

(Okay, so he wanted to see Adam’s stupid beautiful face, sue him)

Adam, sleep rumpled and confused, opened the door a few minutes later. “What the fuck, Lynch?” he rubbed at one eye, blinking tiredly.

Ronan leaned against the doorjamb, suddenly too drunk to stand on his own. “I got off at the wrong stop.” This was probably a lie, but Ronan wasn’t totally sure.

“Are you _drunk_?”

“Uh,” Ronan didn’t want to lie again. “Can I use your bathroom? I have to piss.”

Adam rolled his eyes and stepped aside. “Fine.”

Ronan slipped past, careful not to touch Adam. “Thanks,” he said under his breath as he passed. He made his way to the bathroom, and after washing his hands, Ronan stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, a blush high on his cheeks either from the cold or the whiskey. Ronan almost couldn’t stand his reflection.

He splashed lukewarm water over his face and dried his hands on his jeans, switching off the light as he walked back into the living room, dropping carelessly on to the couch, boots and all.

“You okay?” Adam asked from above him.

Ronan grumbled in assent and threw one arm over his face, not wanting to feel Adam’s gaze.

“You want something to eat?”

Ronan pulled his arm away and peered up at Adam. He didn’t look annoyed, despite the fact the he should be _very annoyed_ that Ronan had shown up, uninvited and drunk, in the middle of the night. “What do you have?” Ronan asked.

Adam stepped away from the couch, Ronan watched him go. “Blue brought home some extra pizza from work.” He opened the fridge. “There’s cheese.”

Ronan’s stomach rumbled quietly, “yeah.” He sat up and watched Adam put a few slices of pizza and popped them in the microwave. Adam puttered around the kitchen as the microwave hummed, finishing off a glass of water and putting the empty cup in the sink, wiping the counter with a patterned tea towel, watching the last few seconds on the microwave count down.

Adam brought the plate the living room and settled on the couch next to Ronan. He took one slice for himself and then handed the plate to Ronan. “Thanks,” he murmured.

They ate in silence, Ronan chewing mindlessly on his pizza. The alcohol had dulled the omnipresent grief that had been suffocating him all day. He felt desaturated. He felt like he was floating outside of his body. “It’s the anniversary of my dad’s death,” Ronan said, unprompted.

Adam sucked in a surprised breath, “oh.”

Ronan took another bite. “He had a heart attack while we were working in one of the barns. I watched him die.”

“Ronan—” Adam started. Ronan could feel his sympathetic gaze studying his profile.

“It really fucked me up,” Ronan replied.

“No kidding,” Adam breathed. Ronan felt a laugh huff out of him, turning slightly to see Adam smile, relieved that his joke landed. 

Ronan finished off his last slice of pizza, dropping the crust on the ceramic plate. “I told Gansey that I wouldn’t do anything stupid today. I think this is the first time I’ve said that when it wasn’t a lie.” He leaned back against the couch, studying the stucco ceiling.

“Yeah? Is destroying your liver not considered stupid?”

“It’s better than getting high. Or street racing. Or street racing while high.”

“Jesus Christ, Lynch.”

“Yeah. Like I said, it fucked me up.” Ronan glanced over at Adam, something soft and warm in his gaze. Ronan wanted to reach out for Adam’s hand where it was resting on the cushion between them, to leech some of his warmth, to feel those calloused fingers drive away the grief clawing at his throat.

Most days, he was okay. It had been years since his father’s death. Years since K. Years since the sterile operating room. Years of replacing unhealthy coping mechanisms with marginally better ones. Years of his friends and family treating him like he was going to break. Years of trying to get their trust back.

(Ronan had only known Adam Parrish for a few months, but there was something refreshing about not having to pretend that he was always _okay_ around him)

Adam stood, moving to take Ronan’s plate. “Hey,” Adam paused. “I got it.” Ronan almost fell over as he tried to stand and grab the plate from Adam’s hand at the same time, his fingers brushed against Adam’s lightly. His head spun.

Adam snorted and backed away. “You can’t even walk in a straight line right now.”

“I’m always straight,” Ronan scoffed, still standing near the couch.

Adam laughed and walked back into the living room. “Now _that’s_ the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

Ronan dropped back down onto the couch, letting out a quiet chuckle under his breath. Adam joined him, tucking one socked foot under him.

“Can I stay the night?” Ronan heard himself ask.

Adam carded a hand through his hair, the hem of his threadbare shirt riding up his stomach. Ronan tried not to stare. “Yeah, of course.” He yawned. “You need anything?” Ronan shook his head and Adam stood. “I have to get up pretty early for work, just make sure you lock up behind you.”

“Of course,” Ronan kicked off his boots, stretching out along the couch. He was too tall, feet hanging over the edge.

Adam paused at his door, fingers tapping against the doorjamb. “Goodnight, Ronan.”

Ronan didn’t say anything in response, turning away from Adam’s searching gaze, his words hanging in the air.

_Fuck_.

***

“_Shit on a motherfucking biscuit_, Parrish. You scared me.” Ronan sucked in a breath, willing his breath back to normal. After a long day (night? What time was it?) in the studio, Ronan had returned to Monmouth, exhausted and covered in paint. Adam Parrish was standing in the kitchen, light off, mug of steaming coffee in his hands.

Adam did not seem surprised to see Ronan, peering at him amusedly over the rim of his cup. “Mornin’,” he croaked.

(Ronan wanted to jump off a _bridge_)

“What are you doing here?” Ronan asked, grabbing a carton of orange juice from the fridge.

“Gansey and I were studying,” he took a sip of his coffee, eyes slipping closed. Ronan took the opportunity to glance over Adam, cataloging his disheveled appearance.

(Ronan wanted to set himself on _fire_)

“You have an exam today?”

“Mhm, oh ew, Lynch.” Adam made a face as Ronan drank straight from the carton.

“Hey, it’s my juice.” He spun the carton around and pointed to where he had written _Ronan’s Motherfucking Juice_ across one side, a crude little doodle of a cross and bones beneath it. “Gansey and Noah know better.”

“Am I right to assume that writing your name on the juice was the result of Gansey and Noah _not_ knowing better?”

“Oh, yeah.” Ronan returned the carton to the fridge. “We kept passing a nasty cold back and forth between us before I realized they were drinking my juice.”

“Ew,” Adam’s face scrunched up adorably. 

“In my defense, it was _my_ juice. I bought it. They knew it wasn’t theirs”

“God, I really lucked out in roommates.”

“And what is _that _supposed to mean?” Ronan asked, fake indignant.

“Even if it is your juice, drinking right out of the carton is gross, Lynch.”

Ronan huffed out a laugh. “Whatever, Parrish.” He hopped up on to the counter and watched Adam take another, longer sip of his coffee.

“Parrish—” Gansey started, rounding the corner into the kitchen. “Holy—Ronan?”

“Hi, Dick,” Ronan smiled from his perch.

“Did you finish your piece? Oh, thanks,” Adam handed Gansey a mug of coffee.

Ronan had been working on the final project for his advanced painting studio for the last six hours. His procrastination was purely his own fault, but he found himself cursing his professor anyway. “Yeah, it’s done. Final crit is in t-minus” Ronan glanced at the stove clock. “7 hours and 32 minutes.”

“Can I see it?” Gansey asked, scrounging the fridge for something to eat.

Ronan dug his phone out of his pocket, pulling up the photo he took before leaving Greenwich Village. The assignment was to paint a portrait based on any character from a Shakespeare play. Ronan, who was not going to let his Latin education go to complete waste, had chosen _Julius Caesar_. On the other hand, Ronan, who was a morbid sonofabitch, had painted Brutus, tunic soaked in blood, dagger in hand, haunted look in his eyes.

“Wow,” Gansey zoomed in on the photo. “Did you come up with a name?” he returned Ronan’s phone.

“Yeah—” Ronan was cut off by Adam.

“Can I see it?” he asked. Ronan nodded and handed over his phone, the tips of their fingers brushing.

_Fuck_.

Ronan’s heart leapt into his throat. “Uh, right. It’s called _The Ides of March Remember_,” Ronan watched Adam survey his piece, not daring to breathe.

“_Caesar, now be still_,” Adam recited, looking up “_I kill'd not thee with half so good a will_.”

(Ronan wanted to _kiss Adam Parrish_)

_Fuck_.

***

“I’ll have you know, Parrish,” Ronan started, angling his head towards Adam’s good ear. “_The X-Files_ is the greatest show of our generation.”

Adam snorted into his cup. “I’m pretty sure it’s from _before_ our generation.”

“Whatever, it’s the greatest show ever made, and you can’t change my fucking mind.”

Adam glanced over; one eyebrow raised, a smile playing at his lips. “I’m not gonna try, Lynch.” Adam’s gaze swept out over the crowd. The front door to Henry’s apartment opened, and a familiar blond head walked through. “_Motherfucker_,” Adam swore.

Ronan’s heart stuttered pathetically.

“What?” Ronan asked, clearing his throat.

“Tad is here,” Adam kept an eye on the crowd, presumedly watching out for Tad Carruthers. “He keeps fucking sitting next to me in our Machine Design class.” He took a long sip of his drink. “I don't want to hear another goddamn word out of his mouth.”

There was something about Adam swearing that made Ronan want to punch a fucking wall. It wasn’t just that Adam rarely swore, only when he was exhausted or comfortable enough to let down his carefully crafted walls. It was the _way_ he swore, all rounded vowels and missing consonants. Ronan wondered what other words he could pull from those beautiful, clever lips.

(Ronan wanted to _crawl out of his skin_)

_Fuck_.

“Wanna get out of here?” Ronan asked, the words pouring from his mouth, unbidden.

Adam finally looked over at him, expression wide open. “_Yes_.”

(Ronan was ready to _combust_)

Adam finished his drink, leaving the empty cup on the coffee table as they passed. Ronan saw Tad desperately try to catch Adam’s eye from across the room, but he was smiling up at Ronan and saying, “I’ll text Gansey, get me the fuck out of here.”

Well, Ronan wasn’t going to argue with that.

**Author's Note:**

> I just like writing everything from two POVs, seems like y'all are totally fine with reading them. Sorry that this one was 100x angstier than the other one. I have no excuses. 
> 
> Comments/Kudos are always greatly appreciated ♥︎
> 
> You can send me prompts (for this 'verse or anything really) [here.](https://andtimestoodstill.tumblr.com/ask)


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